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COSEY- CORNER -SERIES 









Copyright N° 


COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
















MILDRED’S INHERITANCE 


JUST HER WAY 


ANN’S OWN WAY 




Works of 

Annie Fellows Johnston 

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“THREE PRETTY COLLEGE GIRLS LEANED OVER THE 
RAILING OF THE UPPER DECK ” (See page f). 


















































Cosjj Conirr Series 

MILDRED’S 

INHERITANCE 

JUST HER WAY 
ANN’S OWN WAY 


B y 

Annie Fellows Johnston 

Author of “ The Little Colonel ” Series, “ Big Brother,” 
“ The Story of Dago,” “ Joel: A Boy of Galilee,” etc. 


Illustrated by 

Diantha W. Horne 



Boston 

L. C. Page Company 
1906 














LIBRARY of congress 
T wo CoDies Received 

MAY 31 1906 

Entrj __ 

MayS A 'fdt 

CLASS' CL' XXc. No. 

tay r 

COPY B. 


^ K 


\ 




Copyright , 1899 

By the Trustees of the Presbyterian Board of 
Publication and Sabbath - school Work 


Copyright , 1906 

By L. C. Page & Company 

(incorporated) 

All rights reserved 


First Impression, May, 1906 



COLONIAL PRESS 

Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds &* Co, 
Boston, U. S. A . 






Mildred’s Inheritance 
Just Her Way 
Ann’s Own Way 

















































































































PAGB 



“ Three pretty college girls leaned over 

THE RAILING OF THE UPPER DECK ” (See 
Page i) . . . . . . Frontispiece 

“ Before the day was over the two were 

TALKING TOGETHER LIKE OLD FRIENDS ” . 5 

“ Sat down on the battered little box to 

WAIT ”.II 

“ She read that poor Muffit had over¬ 
taxed HER eyes”. 21 

“The passing of the village omnibus was 

AN EXCITING EVENT” ..... 29 

“ She and Miss Barbara pored over a map 

of Washington ”.42 

“ ‘ I wish Daisy Avery could see her now,’ 

SHE MUTTERED, SAVAGELY” . ° . 47 

“ Sat PERCHED AMONG ITS GUARDED BRANCHES ” 56 

“ It was THE BOX THAT held the green kid 

shoes” ....... 63 

“ Ann followed gingerly in their wake ” 69 





















MILDRED’S INHERITANCE 





























































































MILDRED’S INHERITANCE 


As the good ship Majestic went steaming 
away from the Irish coast, one sunny Septem¬ 
ber morning, three pretty college girls leaned 
over the railing of the upper deck, watching the 
steerage passengers below. With faces turned 
to the shore which they might never see again, 
the lusty-throated emigrants were sending their 
song of “Farewell to Erin ” floating mournfully 
back across the water. 

“ Oh, look at that poor old grandmother! ” 
exclaimed one of the girls. “ There ; that one 
sitting on a coil of rope with a shawl over her 
gray head. The pitiful way she looks back to 
land would make me homesick, too, if I were 
not already on my way home, with all my family 
on board, and all the fun of the sophomore year 
ahead of me. Let’s go down to the other end 
of the deck, where it is more cheerful.” 

They moved away in friendly, schoolgirl fash- 

i 



2 


Mildred’s inheritance 


ion, arm in arm, intent only on finding as much 
enjoyment as possible in every moment of this 
ocean voyage. A young English girl, dressed 
in deep mourning, who had been standing near 
them, followed them with a wistful glance ; then 
she turned to look over the railing again at the 
old woman on the coil of rope. 

“ I wish that I could change places with her,” 
thought the girl. “ She is so old that she cannot 
have many homesick years in store, while I — 
left alone in the world at seventeen, and maybe 
never to see dear old England again — ” The 
thought brought such an overwhelming sense of 
desolation that she could not control her tears. 
Drawing her heavy black veil over her face, she 
hurriedly made her way to her deck-chair, and 
sank down to sob unseen, under cover of its pro¬ 
tecting rugs and cushions. 

This was the first time that Mildred Stan¬ 
hope had ever been outside of the village where 
she was born. The only child of an English 
clergyman, the walls of the rectory garden had 
been the boundary of her little world. She could 
not remember her mother, but with her father 
for teacher, playmate, and constant companion, 
her life had been complete in its happiness. 


Mildred’s inheritance 


3 


If the violets blooming within the protecting 
walls of the old rectory garden had suddenly 
been torn up by the roots and thrown into the 
street, the change in their surroundings could 
have been no greater than that which came to 
Mildred in the first shock of her father’s death. 
She had been like one in a confused dream ever 
since. Some one had answered the letter from 
her mother’s brother in America, offering her a 
home. Some one had engaged her passage, 
and an old friend of her father’s had taken her 
to Liverpool and put her on board the steamer. 
Here she sat for the first three days, staring 
out at the sea, with eyes which saw nothing of 
its changing beauty, but always only a daisy- 
covered mound in a little churchyard. All the 
happiness and hope that her life had, ended in 
that. 

“ Who is the pretty little English girl ? ” 
people asked when they passed her. “ She 
doesn’t seem to have an acquaintance on 
board.” 

“ I never saw such a sad, hopeless face ! ” ex¬ 
claimed one of the college girls whom the others 
called “ Muffit.” “ If she were an American 
girl I’d ask her to walk with us. But English 


4 


Mildred’s inheritance 


girls are so reserved and shy, and I am afraid it 
would frighten her.” 

If Muffit could have known, that cold, re¬ 
served manner hid a heart hungry for one 
friendly word. It was the third day out before 
any one spoke to her. She had been warned 
against making the acquaintance of strangers, 
but one look at the gentle-voiced, white-haired 
lady who took the chair next her own, disarmed 
every suspicion. The lady was dressed in deep 
mourning, like herself, and she had a sweet, 
motherly face that drew Mildred irresistibly to 
her. Before the day was over the two were 
talking together like old friends. When she 
saw how the girl grieved for her father, she tried 
to draw her away from her sorrow by question¬ 
ing her about her future. 

Mildred answered with a shiver. “ Oh, I try 
not to think about that at all. I have never 
seen Uncle Joe or any of his family, and every¬ 
thing must be so strange and queer in America. 
Now, if they lived in India I would not dread 
going half so much ; for there would be some¬ 
thing homelike in feeling that I was still under 
the protection of our queen. I cannot bear to 
think of leaving the ship, for it will be like leav- 






“BEFORE THE DAY WAS OVER THE TWO WERE TALK¬ 
ING TOGETHER LIKE OLD FRIENDS.” 



















Mildred’s inheritance 


7 

ing the last bit of home, to step from under the 
dear old Union Jack. ‘A stranger in a strange 
land,’ ” she added, her lips quivering. 

“ No, dear, not as strange as you think,” 
added the lady, with a motherly hand-clasp. 
“ Don’t you know that one corner of our coun¬ 
try is called New England, in loving remem¬ 
brance of the old; that your blood flows in our 
veins regardless of dividing seas, and gives us 
the same heritage of that proud past which you 
hold dear ? Don’t you know that thousands of 
us go back every year, like children of the old 
homestead, drawn by all those countless threads 
of song and story, of common interests and 
aims and relationships that have kept the two 
nations woven together in the woof of one great 
family ? 

“ Let me tell you a bit of personal sentiment 
that links me to the old town of Chester on the 
River Dee. There is a house there that, until 
recently, was in the possession of my husband’s 
family for nobody knows how many generations. 
Thousands of travellers go every year to see the 
inscription over its door. Once, over two hun¬ 
dred years ago, an awful plague swept the town, 
and every family in it lost one or more of its 


8 


Mildred’s inheritance 


household. Only this one house was spared, 
and in grateful memory of its escape there was 
carved over the door the inscription : 

" 6 god’s providence is mine inheritance.’ 

“That became the family motto, and it is 
engraved here in my wedding-ring. The beau¬ 
tiful thought has helped me over many times of 
perplexity and sorrow, and has become the in¬ 
spiration of my life. Because we can trace it 
back to that place, I have grown to love every 
stone in the quaint old streets of Chester.” 

She sat twisting the plain gold circlet on her 
finger for a moment, and then added thought¬ 
fully : “ In the light of her history America 
might well set that inscription over her own 
door: ‘ God’s providence is mine inheritance.’ 
It would be none the less appropriate because it 
reaches back past the struggling colonists and 
past the Mayflower to find the roots of that 
faith in the mother country, in a little English 
town beside the Dee. 

“No, my dear,” she exclaimed, looking up at 
Mildred ; “ it is not a land of strangers you are 
going to. We sing ‘America’ and you sing 
‘ God Save the Queen,’ and we both feel some- 


Mildred’s inheritance 


9 


times that there is a vast difference between the 
songs. But they are set to the same tune, you 
know, and to alien ears, who cannot understand 
our tongue or our temperament, they must 
sound alike.” 

Life seemed very different to Mildred when 
she went to her stateroom that night, and her 
cheery companion inspired her with so much 
hope before the voyage was over that she began 
to look forward to landing with some degree of 
interest. How much of her new-found courage 
was due to the presence of her helpful counsellor 
Mildred did not realize until she came to the 
parting. They were standing at the foot of the 
gangplank in the New York custom-house. 

“ I am sorry that I cannot stay to see you 
safe in your uncle’s care,” the lady said, “but 
my son tells me there is barely time to catch 
the next train to Boston. Good-bye, my child. 
If you get lonely and discouraged, think of the 
motto in my wedding-ring, and take it for your 
own.” 

The next instant Mildred felt, with a ter¬ 
rible sinking of the heart, that she was all 
alone in the great, strange, new world. 

Following the directions in her uncle’s let- 


IO 


Mildred’s inheritance 


ter, she pushed her way through the crowds 
until she came to the section marked “ S,” 
where he was to meet her. There was no 
one in sight who bore any resemblance to 
the description he had written of himself. She 
stood there until her trunk was brought up, 
and then sat down on the battered little box 
to wait. 

An hour went by, and she began to look 
around with frightened, nervous glances. A 
half-hour more passed. The crowds had di¬ 
minished, for the officials were making their 
custom-house examinations as rapidly as pos¬ 
sible. All around her the sections were being 
emptied, and the baggage wheeled off in big 
trucks. The newsboys and telegraph agents 
had all gone. A great fear fell suddenly upon 
her that her uncle was never coming, and that 
she would soon be left entirely alone in this 
barnlike, cavernous custom-house, with its bare 
walls and dusty floors; and night was coming 
on, and she had nowhere to go. 

She was groping in her pocket for a hand¬ 
kerchief to stop the tears that would come, 
despite her brave efforts to wink them back, 
when some one spoke to her. It was the 



“SAT DOWN ON THE BATTERED LITTLE BOX TO WAIT. 





























Mildred’s inheritance 13 

pretty college girl whom the others had called 
Muffit. 

“ Are you having trouble with your baggage 
too ? ” she asked, kindly. “ One of our trunks 
was misplaced, and they would not examine 
anything until it was found. It is here at last, 
thank fortune, so that we shall not be delayed 
much longer. Mamma and I have noticed you 
waiting here, and wondered if you were in the 
same predicament. Papa says that he will be so 
glad to help you in any way he can, if you 
need his assistance.” She did not add that her 
mother had said, “ I can’t go away with any 
peace of mind until I see that child safe in 
somebody’s hands.” 

“ There is some dreadful mistake! ” sobbed 
Mildred. “My uncle was to meet me here, 
and I do not know what to do! ” She buried 
her face in her handkerchief, and the next min¬ 
ute “ Muffit’s ” mother had her arms around 
her. Then she found that the girl’s name was 
not Muffit, but Mildred, like her own, Mildred 
Rowland. 

When Mildred Stanhope told Mrs. Rowland 
her name, that motherly woman exclaimed, 
“Oh, Edward! What if it were our daughter 


14 Mildred’s inheritance 

left in such a trying position! She shall just 
come to the hotel with us and stay until we 
hear from her uncle. Wasn’t it fortunate that 
that old trunk delayed us so long ! We might 
have hurried off and never known anything 
about you. Well, it’s all right now. Mr. Row¬ 
land shall telegraph to your uncle, and we will 
keep you with us until he comes.” 

The next two days were full of strange 
experiences to Mildred. The rush and roar 
of the great city, the life in the palatial hotel, 
with its seeming miles of corridors and hundreds 
of servants, bewildered her. In response to 
Mr. Rowland’s telegram the reply came: “Jo¬ 
seph Barnard died last Wednesday. Call for 
letter Blank Hotel.” The message was signed 
Derrick Jaynes. The letter, which was brought 
up an hour later, bore the same signature. It 
had been written at the request of Mrs. Barnard 
by her minister. It told Mildred of her uncle’s 
sudden death, occurring the day that she left 
Liverpool, and had been sent to the hotel to 
which Mr. Barnard had intended to take his 
niece, Mrs. Barnard supposing that her hus¬ 
band had given Mildred that address in case 
of any slip in making connections. 


Mildred’s inheritance 


15 


The kindly old minister seemed to realize 
the unhappy position in which the young girl 
was placed, and gave minute directions regard¬ 
ing the journey she would have to take alone, 
while Mr. Rowland arranged for her comfort 
in the same fatherly way he would have done 
for his own Mildred. “ What would I have 
done without you ? ” she exclaimed, in a chok¬ 
ing voice, as she clung to Mrs. Rowland at 
parting. “ Now I shall be adrift again, all 
alone in the world, as soon as you unclasp your 
hand.” 

“ No, Providence will take care of you, dear,” 
answered Mrs. Rowland. “Just keep think¬ 
ing of that motto you told me about, and let 
us hear from you when you are safe in Carls- 
ville.” 

Easter had always come to Mildred with the 
freshness of country meadows, with cowslips 
and crocuses, with the soft green of budding 
hedgerows and a chorus of twittering bird-calls 
in the old rectory garden. This year, after her 
long, dreary winter in Carlsville, she looked out 
on the roofs of the smoky little manufacturing 
town, and saw only red brick factories and 


16 Mildred’s inheritance 

dingy houses and dirty streets. The longing 
for the spring in her old English home lay in 
her heart like a throbbing pain. “ Oh, papa,” 
she sobbed, resting her arms on the window-sill 
and laying her head wearily down, “do you 
know all about it, dearest ? Oh, if you could 
only tell me what to do ! ” 

A week before, her aunt, Belle Barnard, had 
said, in her sickly, complaining voice, “ Well, 
Mildred, I don’t like to tell you, but I have 
been talking the matter over with the girls, and 
they think that we might as well be plain- 
spoken with you. Everybody thought that 
your Uncle Joe was a rich man, and so did we 
till we got the business settled up. Now we 
find that after the lawyers are paid there won’t 
be enough for us all to live on comfortably. 
At least there wouldn’t be if it wasn’t for a 
small inheritance that Maud and Blanche have 
from their grandmother, and, of course, they 
couldn’t be expected to divide that with you, 
and deny themselves every comfort; so I don’t 
see any help for it but for you to get a place in 
some store or millinery shop, or something. 
We have to move in a smaller house next 
week.” 


Mildred’s inheritance 


i 7 

The week had nearly gone by, and Mildred 
was growing desperate. Unfitted for most 
work, either in strength or education, she 
scarcely knew for what to apply, and went from 
one place to another at her aunt’s recommenda¬ 
tion, feeling like a forlorn little waif for whom 
there was no place anywhere in the world. 

One afternoon she sat by her window, look¬ 
ing out on the early April sunshine, trying, with 
the hopelessness of despair, to form some plan 
for her future. “ Why didn’t I have a grand¬ 
mother to leave me an inheritance like Blanche 
and Maud ? ” she thought, bitterly. 

Then her thoughts flew back to the day on 
shipboard, when she had heard of the old house 
in Chester and the inscription in her compan¬ 
ion’s wedding-ring. “ And she told me to take 
that motto for my own,” she whispered through 
her tears. “ ‘ God’s providence is mine inher¬ 
itance ! ’ If it is, the time has certainly come 
for me to claim it, for I have never been in 
such desperate need.” 

The few times that winter that Mildred had 
gone to any service, had been in the church in 
the next block. Its gray stone walls, with 
masses of overhanging ivy, reminded her of the 


18 Mildred’s inheritance 

one she had loved at home. God had seemed 
so very far away since she came to Carlsville. 
She prayed as she had always done before, but 
her prayers seemed like helpless little birds, 
unable to rise high enough to carry her plead¬ 
ings to the ear of the great Creator who had 
so many cries constantly going up to him. She 
had not realized before how big the world was 
and how small a part her little affairs played 
in the plan of the great universe. A longing 
for some closer communion than she had known 
before drew her toward this church, of which 
Derrick Jaynes was the rector. The door was 
unlocked, and the slender black figure slipped 
in unobserved. In the big empty church her 
desolate little moan was all unheard and un¬ 
heeded, as she knelt at the altar sobbing, “ Oh, 
God, I don’t know what will become of me if 
you do not help me now ! Oh, show me 4 mine 
inheritance! ’ ” 

Three times during that week she went back 
to that same place with that same cry. The 
last time she went some one was in the church. 
It was the organist, practising some new Easter 
music for the next day’s services. A burst of 
triumphant melody greeted her as she noise- 


Mildred’s inheritance 19 

lessly opened the side door. She met the 
florist coming out, for he had just completed 
the decorating, and the place was a mass of 
bloom. All around the chancel stood the tall, 
white Easter lilies, waiting, like the angels in 
the open tomb, with their glad resurrection 
message — “ He is risen ! ” 

As Mildred stood with clasped hands, an 
unspoken prayer rising with the organ’s jubi¬ 
lant tones and the incense of the lilies, she felt 
a touch on her shoulder. It was the white- 
haired old minister. 

“ I saw you come in,” he said, in a whisper. 
“ I have been trying all day to find time to call 
at your aunt’s to talk with you. You do not 
know, but I have been in correspondence sev¬ 
eral times this winter regarding you, with a Mr. 
Rowland. He wrote me when you first came 
that his wife and daughter were deeply inter¬ 
ested in you, and wanted to be kept informed 
of your welfare. This morning I received a 
letter which needs your personal answer. I am 
very busy now, but shall try to see you Mon¬ 
day in regard to it.” 

Mildred’s heart beat rapidly as he handed 
her a large, businesslike-looking letter and 


20 


Mildred’s inheritance 


went softly out again. In the dim light of the 
great stained-glass windows she read that poor 
Muffit had overtaxed her eyes, and that they 
were so badly affected she could not go back 
to school for the spring term. In looking for 
some one who could be eyes for their Mildred, 
so that she might go on with her studies at 
home, they had thought of this other Mildred, 
the little English girl, whose low, musical voice 
had been so carefully trained by her father in 
reading aloud. By one of these strange provi¬ 
dences which we never recognize as such at the 
time, Mr. Rowland had broken his spectacles 
the last evening of Mildred’s stay in New York. 
She had offered to read the magazine article 
which he was particularly anxious to hear, and 
they had been charmed by her beautifully mod¬ 
ulated voice. Now the letter had been written 
to offer her a liberal salary and a home for the 
summer. 

Mildred gave a gasp of astonishment. It 
was not the almost miraculous finding of what 
she had come to seek that overwhelmed her. 
It was a feeling that swept across her like a 
flood, warm and sweet and tender ; the sudden 
realization that a hand stronger than death and 



“SHE READ THAT POOR MUFFIT HAD OVERTAXED 

HER EYES.” 































































Mildred’s inheritance 23 

wise above all human understanding had her in 
its keeping. She dropped on her knees at the 
flower-decked altar-rail, with face upturned and 
radiant; no longer lonely; no longer afraid of 
what the future might hold. She had come 
into her inheritance. 

Kneeling there she looked back again to 
her father’s lowly grave in the little church¬ 
yard across the seas, but she saw it no longer 
through hopeless tears. Into her heart the 
great organ had pealed the gladness of its exult¬ 
ant Easter message, and in the deep peace of 
the silence which followed, the fragrance of the 
lilies breathed a wordless “Amen ! ” 



JUST HER WAY 



JUST HER WAY 


“ Look out of the window, Judith ! Quick ! 
Mrs. Avery is going away ! ” Judith Windham, 
bending over the sewing-machine in her bed¬ 
room, started as her little sister’s voice came 
piping shrilly up the stairs, and leaving her chair 
she leaned out of the old-fashioned casement 
wdndow. 

There were so few goings and comings in 
sleepy little Westbrooke, that the passing of the 
village omnibus was an exciting event. With 
an imposing rumble of yellow wheels it rattled 
up to Doctor Allen’s gate across the road. A 
trunk, a dress suit case, and numerous valises 
were hoisted to the top of it, and the doctor’s 
family flocked down to the gate to watch the 
departure of the youngest member of their 
household, Marguerite. 

It had been four years since the first time 
they watched her go away, a nineteen-year-old 
2 7 



28 


JUST HER WAY 


bride. Since then they had visited her, sever¬ 
ally and collectively, in her elegant apartments 
in Washington, but this had been her first visit 
home. Judith, watching her flutter down the 
walk with her hand in the old doctor’s, thought 
she looked even prettier and more girlish than 
on her wedding-day. Married life had been all 
roses for Marguerite. 

“ She’s the same dear old harum-scarum 
Daisy she always was, in spite of the efforts of 
her Lord Chesterfield of a husband to reform 
her,” thought Judith, fondly, as her old school¬ 
mate, catching sight of her at the window, 
waved her parasol so wildly that the staid old 
’bus horses began to plunge. 

The girls had bidden each other good-bye the 
night before, but Marguerite stopped in the 
midst of her final embracings to call out, 
“ Good-bye, again, Judith. Remember, I shall 
expect you the first of February.” Then the 
slender figure in its faultless tailor-made gown 
disappeared into the omnibus. Her husband, a 
distinguished, scholarly man, lifted his hat once 
more and stepped in after her. The door banged 
behind them, and, creaking and swaying, the 
ancient vehicle moved off in a cloud of dust. 



“THE PASSING OF THE VILLAGE OMNIBUS WAS AN 


EXCITING EVENT.’ 
























JUST HER WAY 


31 


Feeling that something very bright and inter¬ 
esting had dropped out of her life, Judith went 
back to the sewing-machine. As she picked up 
her work an involuntary sigh escaped her. 

“That’s a very sorry sound, Judith. Are 
you tired ? ” 

It was a sympathetic voice that asked the 
question, and Judith looked up with a smile. 
Her mother’s cousin stood in the doorway—a 
prim little old spinster, who had been their 
guest for several days. Like Marguerite, she, 
too, had come back to her native village after an 
absence of four years, but not to her father’s 
house. She was all alone in the world, save for 
a few distant relatives who called her Cousin 
Barbara. After a short visit, she would go 
away for another long absence, but not, like 
Marguerite, to a life full of many interests and 
pleasures. She had only her music pupils in a 
little Pennsylvania mining town, and a room in 
a boarding-house. 

“Come in, Cousin Barbara,” said Judith, 
cordially. “ I was sighing over Marguerite’s 
departure. You know she was my best friend 
at school, and I have missed her so much since 
her marriage. The other girls in our class have 


32 


JUST HER WAY 


all gone away to teach or take positions some¬ 
where, except the two who married and settled 
down here in Westbrooke; and they have such 
different interests now. All they can talk about 
is their housekeeping or their babies. Most of 
the boys have gone away, too. I don’t wonder. 
Anybody with any ambition would get away 
from such a place if it were within the range of 
possibilities.” 

Cousin Barbara had seated herself in a low 
rocking-chair and was pulling the basting threads 
from a finished garment. “ Listen ! ” she said, 
“ isn’t that Amy calling again ? ” An excited 
little voice came shrilly up the stairs. 

“ Look, Judith! Mrs. Avery is coming back 
again ! What do you suppose is the matter ? ” 

The omnibus dashing down the road stopped 
suddenly at the gate opposite. The door burst 
open, and the dignified Mr. Avery, in undignified 
haste, ran breathlessly toward the house, while 
Marguerite called out a laughing explanation to 
her friend at the window. 

“ I left my watch on the dressing-table and 
my purse with my trunk keys in it, and we’ve 
only six minutes to catch the train. Isn’t that 
just my way? Look at Algernon run! I 


JUST HER WAY 


33 


wouldn’t have believed it of him. Well, it has 
given me another chance to remind you that 
you are to come to me in February. You 
needn’t shake your head. I’ll not take 1 no ’ 
for an answer. You’re so good at planning, 
Judith, I’m sure you can arrange it some way.” 

Then as her husband returned, red-faced and 
breathless, she leaned out of the ’bus, and 
laughingly blew an airy kiss from her finger¬ 
tips. 

“That’s just like her!” exclaimed Judith. 
“ She’s as irresponsible and careless as a child. 
She was always late to school, and losing her 
pencils and forgetting her books. We used to 
call her ‘ Daisy Dilly-dally.’ She’s such a dear 
little butterfly, though, and it doesn’t seem pos¬ 
sible that we are the same age — twenty-three. 
I feel like a patriarch beside her.” 

“ So she has invited you to visit her in 
Washington,” began Miss Barbara. “ I am 
glad of that. It will be such a fine change for 
you.” 

To her surprise, the gray eyes filled with 
tears, and in her effort to wink them back 
Judith did not reply for a moment. Then she 
answered, lightly, “Yes; it would be a golden 


34 


JUST HER WAY 


opportunity if I could only afford to accept, but 
the wolf is still at the door, Cousin Barbara. It 
has stood in the way of everything I ever longed 
to do. Even when a child I used to hear so 
much about it that I thought it was a veritable 
flesh-and-blood wolf. Many a night I slipped 
out of bed and peered through the curtain, all 
a-shiver. I wanted to see if its fiery eyeballs 
were really watching at the door. I wanted to 
see them if they were there, and yet was ter¬ 
rified to peep out for fear they were. Even 
now it seems more than a mere figure of speech. 
Often I dream of having a hand-to-hand struggle 
with it, but I always conquer it in the end — in 
my dreams,” she added, with a gay little laugh. 
“And that is a good omen.” 

That cheery laugh was the key-note of Judith’s 
character, Miss Barbara thought. All her life 
she had taken the pinch of poverty bravely for 
the sake of her invalid mother and the three 
younger sisters whom she was now helping 
through school. Gradually she had shouldered 
the heavy responsibilities laid upon her, until 
she had settled down to a routine of duty, 
almost hopeless in its monotony. Miss Barbara 
noted with keen eyes that a careworn look had 


just her way 


35 


become the habitual expression of the sweet 
girlish face, and she sat wishing with all her 
heart that she were something herself besides a 
poorly paid little music teacher with the wolf 
lurking at her own door. As she wound the 
basting threads on a spool she planned the rose- 
coloured future Judith should have if it were 
only in her power to give it. 

Judith must have felt the unspoken sympathy, 
for presently she burst forth : “ If I could only 
go away, just once, and have a real good time, 
like other girls, just once, while I am young 
enough to enjoy it, I wouldn’t ask anything 
more. I’ve never been ten miles outside of 
Westbrooke, and I’m sure no one ever longed 
to travel more than I. I never have any com¬ 
pany of my own age. Our old set is all gone, 
and my friends are either elderly people or the 
school-children who come to see the girls. And 
they all are so absorbed in the trivial village 
happenings and neighbourhood gossip. 

“What I want is to meet people out in the 
world who really do things,— men like Mr. 
Avery, for instance; Daisy is always entertain¬ 
ing distinguished strangers, artists and authors 
and musicians. Friendship with such cultured, 


36 


JUST HER WAY 


interesting people would broaden the horizon of 
my whole life. I have a feeling that if I could 
once get away, it would somehow break the ice, 
and things would be different ever after.” Then 
she added, with a tinge of bitterness that rarely 
crept into her voice, “ I might as well plan to go 
to the moon. The round-trip ticket alone, with¬ 
out the sleeping-car berth, would be at least 
forty dollars, wouldn’t it ? ” 

Miss Barbara nodded. “Yes, fully that. It 
costs me almost that much to go to Packertown 
and back, and that, you know, is a few hours 
this side of Washington.” 

There was silence for several minutes, while 
Judith, already ashamed of her outburst, stitched 
twice round the skirt she was making for Amy. 
Then she said in a cheerful tone that somehow 
forbade any return to the subject, “Tell me 
about Packertown, Cousin Barbara. How did 
you happen to stray off there after a music 
class ? ” 

The trip to Washington was mentioned no 
more that summer, but Miss Barbara under¬ 
stood. 

It was the middle of September when the old 
yellow omnibus rolled up for Miss Barbara and 


JUST HER WAY 


37 


her trunk. This time there was no returning 
in mad haste after forgotten property. With a 
precision that was almost fussiness, she had 
packed her trunk days before her departure, 
and her bonnet was on an hour before train 
time. 

“ I can’t help it,” she said, calmly, when 
Judith remonstrated. “ It’s just my way. I 
have a horror of keeping any one waiting. 
Habitual disregard of punctuality in the keeping 
of an engagement or a promise is a sort of dis¬ 
honesty, in my opinion. I suppose I do carry it 
to an extreme in minor matters, but it is better 
to do that than to cause other people needless 
anxiety and trouble.” 

Miss Barbara was mounted on her hobby 
now, and she ambled vigorously along until 
Amy, with a sigh of relief, announced that she 
heard wheels. Amy had heard Cousin Barbara’s 
views more than once, when a missing shoe 
button, a torn glove, or an unanswered note, 
claimed immediate attention. 

“ Remember, Judith,” said Miss Barbara, at 
parting, “ if anything should happen to make it 
possible for you to go to Washington, be sure 
and let me know. I want to arrange for you to 


38 


JUST HER WAY 


stop with me a week on your way.’’ But even 
as Judith spoke her thanks, she shook her head. 
She had stopped building air-castles. 

Winter came early to Westbrooke. Mrs. 
Allen ran over occasionally with a letter from 
Marguerite, who was an erratic correspondent, 
sometimes sending interesting daily bulletins of 
sixteen or twenty pages, sometimes breaking a 
month’s silence by only a postal card. They 
rarely heard from Miss Barbara, but, one snowy 
day late in January, Amy dashed in from the 
post-office with a letter to Judith, addressed 
in her unmistakable precise little hand. She 
wrote : 

“The new year began for me with a great 
pleasure, Judith dear. An old bill, which I had 
been unable to collect for so long that I crossed 
it off my books two years ago, was paid very 
unexpectedly, and I feel as if I had fallen heir 
to a dukedom. 

“ It is enough to enable you to make your 
visit to Washington and to pay your board in 
the room next to mine for two weeks. Maybe 
there will be enough to get the material for a 
simple evening gown, and you can make it while 


JUST HER WAY 


39 


you are here, or at home. It depends on whether 
you go first to Mrs. Avery or to me. Write to 
her at once, please, so that I may know when 
to expect you. 

“ Oh, my dear child, you do not know the 
unalloyed pleasure I have already had in an¬ 
ticipating not only your visit to me, but your 
good times in Washington. I feel that your 
enjoyment of the outing, which I would have 
enjoyed so intensely at your age, will, in a way, 
compensate me for my starved, unsatisfied girl¬ 
hood, and I am sure you are too generous to 
refuse me the pleasure. 

“Enclosed you will find the check and a card 
on which I have written all necessary directions 
as to railroad connections, time-tables, etc.” 

No girl of fifteen could have been more en¬ 
thusiastic in her rapturous expressions of delight 
than Judith, as she danced into her mother’s 
room, waving the check. Amy looked on in 
amazement. 

“ I didn’t know that sister could get so ex¬ 
cited,” she said to her mother, afterwards. 

“ It is the first great pleasure she has ever 
had,” said Mrs. Windham, with a sigh. “It 


40 


JUST HER WAY 


means far more to her than a trip to Europe 
would to Marguerite. We all must help her to 
make the most of it.” 

It seemed to Judith that all Westbrooke had 
heard of her proposed journey before night. 
Neighbours ran in to talk it over and proffer their 
assistance. The little old trunk that had gone 
on her mother's wedding journey was brought 
down, and the family dropped various contribu¬ 
tions into it, from Mrs. Windham’s well-pre¬ 
served black silk skirt, to Edith’s best stockings. 
Amy brought her coral pin and only lace-trimmed 
handkerchief, begging Judith to wear them when 
she went to the White House. “Then I can 
tell the girls they’ve seen the President of the 
United States,” she said, proudly. 

Lillian, next in age to Judith, presented her 
outright with her Christmas gloves. “ Mittens 
are good enough for Westbrooke,” she said. 
“Just bring me a leaf from Mount Vernon and 
one from Arlington for my memory book. I 
can hardly realize that you are really going to 
see such famous places.” 

Marguerite’s letter in response to Judith’s 
news came promptly. She named a long list of 
sights which she had planned for Judith to see, 


JUST HER WAY 


41 


and mentioned a noted violinist who was to visit 
Washington the following month and had prom¬ 
ised to play at the musicale she intended giving 
on the sixteenth. 

“I am sure you will like that better than 
anything,” she wrote. “ Make your visit to 
Miss Barbara first. I wish I could have you 
come on the first of February, as I invited you 
to do, but, unfortunately, Mr. Avery’s mother 
and sisters are with us just now, and they 
occupy all our spare room. They do not expect 
to stay long after my cousin’s reception on the 
third, however, and I will write as soon as they 
leave, and let you know just what day to 
come.” 

The first week of Judith’s visit in Packertown 
fairly flew by. Miss Barbara was away much 
of the time, both morning and afternoon, with 
her music pupils, but Judith busied herself with 
the making of the dainty white dinner gown, 
and wove happy day-dreams while she worked. 
In the evenings she and Miss Barbara pored 
over a map of Washington until they could 
locate all the prominent places of interest, and 
then Miss Barbara brought out a pile of bor¬ 
rowed magazines in which were interesting 


42 


JUST HER WAY 


descriptions of those very places, and they took 
turns in reading aloud. 

When the dress was completed they had a 
little jubilee. Judith wore it one evening, with 


1 


its dainty flutter of ribbons, for Miss Barbara to 
admire, and they invited the landlady and her 
daughter in to have music and toast marsh¬ 
mallows. 

“You don’t look a day over eighteen,” Miss 
Barbara declared. “You ought to wear white all 
the time.” 

“ It is given only to saints and the ‘ lilies that 





JUST HER WAY 


43 


toil not’ to do that,” answered Judith, gaily. 
“ I am satisfied to be arrayed just on state 
occasions.” And then because she was so happy 
she seized the little music teacher and waltzed 
her round and round before the mirror. “ It’s 
all your doing, you blessed Cousin Barbara! 
See how you have metamorphosed me.” 

Several days later she stood idly turning the 
calendar. “ This is the day of the reception,” 
she said; “the Averys will certainly be going 
home soon, and I ought to hear from Margue¬ 
rite.” 

But no letter came the next day, nor the 
next, nor all the following week, although she 
went to the post-office several times daily. 

It grew dull waiting, with Miss Barbara gone 
so much, and with nothing to do. She read the 
few books at her disposal, she paced up and 
down in the two little back bedrooms that she 
and Miss Barbara occupied. She took long 
walks alone, but the little mining town was 
even smaller than Westbrooke, and she found 
scant material with which to fill her letters 
home. 

The two weeks for which she had been in¬ 
vited came to an end, and Judith grew desperate 


44 


JUST HER WAY 


over her fruitless trips to the post-office. She 
knew that Miss Barbara had just made the pay¬ 
ment that was due the Building and Loan 
Association in which she was putting her little 
earnings, and would be almost penniless until 
the end of another term. Besides, she had 
accepted all that she was willing to take from 
the hard-worked little music teacher. 

“ I have packed my trunk and am going home 
to-morrow, Cousin Barbara,” she announced. 
“ Mr. Avery’s family have evidently stayed 
longer than Daisy expected, and she can’t have 
me. Maybe some of them are ill.” 

“ Then she should have written and told you 
so,” said Miss Barbara, waxing so indignant 
over the neglect of her protegee that she grew 
eloquent on the subject of her hobby — punc¬ 
tuality, especially in correspondence. 

“ I suppose you wouldn’t want to write 
again ? ” she suggested. 

But Judith shook her head. “Oh, no, no!” 
she insisted ; “ Daisy understands perfectly that 
I can stay here only two weeks. I explained 
the situation fully in my letter. I mailed it 
myself, and I am sure that she received it. 
And I couldn’t thrust myself upon her, you 


JUST HER WAY 


45 


know. She has probably forgotten all about 
her invitation by this time; this visit doesn’t 
mean as much to her as to me.” 

“ But I can’t bear to be disappointed after 
going so far,” said Miss Barbara. “ She’ll 
surely write in a few days. You’ll just have 
to stay another week. I can arrange for that 
long. The landlady wants the room after the 
twenty-first for a permanent boarder, but you 
can’t go until then.” 

In spite of all Judith’s protestations, Miss 
Barbara kept her, and never did a week drag 
by so slowly. It snowed incessantly. Miss 
Barbara was unusually busy. Judith took a 
severe cold that confined her to the house. 
Her eyes ached when she attempted to read, 
and all she could do was to pace up and down 
the room and look out of the window, or watch 
the clock in feverish impatience for Miss Bar¬ 
bara to return with the mail. 

But not until the sixteenth, the day of the 
musicale, did she lose hope. When the hour 
came in which she should have been listening 
to the famous violinist in Marguerite’s elegant 
drawing-rooms, she threw herself on the bed 
and cried as if her heart would break. It had 


46 


JUST HER WAY 


been years since she had given away to her 
emotions as she did then, but the disappoint¬ 
ment was a bitter one. She must go back 
home without even a glimpse of the city of her 
dreams, and without meeting a single interest¬ 
ing person. True, she had had a pleasant visit 
with Cousin Barbara, but they both had thought 
of it as only the stepping-stone to what lay be¬ 
yond. Then at the thought of Miss Barbara’s 
disappointment, second only to her own, she 
cried again. And again for her mother’s dis¬ 
appointment and the girls’, and her mortification 
when it should be discussed in every house in 
Westbrooke. She sobbed so long that finally 
she fell into a deep sleep of exhaustion. 

Miss Barbara, coming in later in the twilight, 
found her lying on the bed, with a feverish 
flush on her cheeks. The grieved, childlike 
droop of the sensitive little mouth told its own 
story, and Miss Barbara set her lips sternly 
together. 

“ I wish Daisy Avery could see her now,” 
she muttered, savagely ; “ it’s cruel to disappoint 
any one so. I don’t care what the cause is, it’s 
wickedly cruel to be so careless.” 

Four days later Judith went home. In the 























































JUST HER WAY 


49 


course of a week a letter was forwarded to her 
from Packertown. It was from Marguerite: 

“ How can you ever forgive my abominable 
carelessness ? I intended to answer immediately 
after our guests left, but Mr. Avery and I were 
invited to a little house-party in the country, 
and I thought a few days wouldn’t make any 
difference to you. Then, after our return, so 
many things interfered and the days slipped by 
so fast, that the month was nearly gone before I 
realized it. But then I always have been such a 
poor correspondent. 

“I hope that it hasn’t inconvenienced you 
any, and that you have been having a good visit 
with Miss Barbara. You know my unfortunate 
way of doing things, and I’m sure you’ll forgive 
me, like the darling you always were. 

“ We shall look for you to-morrow on the six 
o’clock train. Don’t disappoint us, for we both 
shall be at the station to meet you. 

“ Devotedly, 

“ Marguerite.” 

Judith read the letter aloud to the girls and 
then dropped it in the fire, watching it without 


50 


JUST HER WAY 


a word, as it curled up in the flame. How long 
she had waited for that careless little letter ! 
How anxiously she had hoped for it! A few 
days sooner it would have brought untold happi¬ 
ness. Now it was only a hollow mockery. 
Well, it was all over now. Her hopes were 
in ashes like the letter. How high they had 
burned ! And the little evening gown she had 
taken such pleasure in making — there would 
never be any occasion fit for its wearing in 
Westbrooke. She might as well fold it away. 
The letter had come too late. And she was 
asked to forgive it — the disappointment that 
would sting all her life long — simply because it 
was Daisy’s way. 

The silence was growing uncomfortable. Amy 
kept casting frightened glances at her sister’s 
white, tense face. “Oh, dear,” she sighed, 
finally, “if this had only been in a story it 
wouldn’t have ended so dreadfully. Something 
nice would have happened just at the last minute 
to make up for the disappointment.” 

“But it isn’t in a story,” said Judith, slowly, 
rising to leave the room. “And nothing can 
compensate for such a disappointment. It will 
hurt always.” 


JUST HER WAY 


51 


As the door closed behind her the girls ex¬ 
changed sympathizing glances. “ If there had 
even been a good reason,” sighed Lillian, “but 
it was only carelessness. And the trouble of it 
is, the world is full of Daisy Averys.” 




ANN’S OWN WAY 




ANN’S OWN WAY 


“ Ann ! Ann ! Have you been home yet to 
feed the chickens ? ” The call came from the 
doorway of a big old farmhouse, where a pleas¬ 
ant-faced woman stood looking out over the 
October fields. 

The answer floated down from an apple-tree 
near by, where a ten-year-old girl sat perched 
among its gnarled branches. She had a dog¬ 
eared book of fairy tales on her knee, and was 
poring over it in such blissful absorption that 
she had forgotten there were such things in 
all the world as chickens to be fed. 

“No’m, Aunt Sally, I haven’t done it yet, 
but I’ll go in a minute,” and she was deep into 
the story again. 

“ But, Ann,” came the voice after a moment’s 
waiting, “ it is nearly sundown, and you ought 
to go right away, dear. Lottie says that you 
have been reading ever since you came home 
55 



56 


Ann’s own way 


from school, and I am afraid that your mother 
wouldn’t like it.” 



“ Oh, bother! ” exclaimed Ann under her 
breath, shutting the book with an impatient 






Ann’s own way 


5 7 


slap; but she obediently swung herself down 
from the limb, and went into the house for 
the key. The little cottage where Ann Fowler 
lived stood just across the lane from her Uncle 
John’s big brown house, where she was staying 
while her mother was away from home. Mrs. 
Fowler, who had been called to the city by her 
sister’s illness, had taken little Betty with her, 
but Ann could not afford to miss school and 
had been left in her Aunt Sally’s care. The 
arrangement was very agreeable to the child, 
for it meant no dish-wiping, no dusting, no run¬ 
ning of errands while she was a guest. Her 
only task was to go across the lane twice a day 
and feed the chickens. 

As Ann came out of the house swinging the 
key, her aunt called her again : “ Mrs. Grayson 
was here to-day. She came to invite you and 
Lottie to a Saturday afternoon romp with her 
little girls to-morrow. She’s asked a dozen 
boys and girls to come and play all afternoon 
and stay to tea. Her oldest daughter, Jennie, 
is going to give a Hallowe’en party at night, 
but she’ll send you home in the carryall after 
tea, before the foolishness begins.” 

“ Didn’t she invite us to the party too ? ” 


58 


Ann’s own way 


asked Ann, who had heard it discussed at 
school all week by the older girls and boys of 
the neighbourhood, until her head was full of the 
charms and mysteries of Hallowe’en. 

«Why, of course not,” was the answer. 
“Jennie Grayson is fully eighteen years old 
and wouldn’t want you children tagging 
around.” 

“ But we can’t work any charms in the after¬ 
noon,” said Ann. “They won’t come true 
unless you wait till midnight to do ’em. I found 
a long list of ’em in an old book at home and 
gave them to Jennie. I think she might have 
asked me. I’d love to try my fate walking 
down cellar backwards with a looking-glass in 
one hand and a candle in the other. They say 
that you can see the reflection of the man you’re 
going to marry looking over your shoulder into 
the glass.” 

“ Why, Ann Fowler! ” exclaimed her aunt 
in a horrified tone, lifting up both hands in her 
astonishment. “ I didn’t think it of a little 
girl like you ! Don’t you go to putting any 
foolish notions like that into Lottie’s head. 
Fate indeed ! It would be more like your fate 
to fall down cellar and break the looking-glass 


Ann’s own way 


59 


and set yourself on fire. No, indeed! Lottie 
shouldn’t go to such a party if she had a dozen 
invitations.” 

Ann hurried away wishing that she had not 
spoken. She had an uncomfortable feeling that 
her aunt considered her almost wicked, because 
she had made that wish. As for her aunt, she 
was saying to her husband, who had just come 
in, “ Well, well! that child has the queerest 
notions. Her mother lets her read entirely too 
much, and anything she happens to get her 
hands on. And she sets such store by her 
clothes, too. I believe if she had her own way 
she’d be rigged out in her Sunday best the 
whole week long. I’m glad that Lucy isn’t like 
her.” 

No one, judging by the appearance of the 
resolute little figure trudging across the lane, 
would have imagined that Ann’s besetting sin 
was a love of dress. She was such a plain old- 
fashioned little body, with her short brown hair 
combed smoothly back behind her ears. But 
the checked sunbonnet, the long-sleeved ging¬ 
ham apron, and the stout calfskin shoes were 
no index of Ann’s taste. They were of her 
mother’s choosing, and Ann’s mother was not 


6o 


Ann’s own way 


ci woman whose decisions could be lightly set 
aside. 

In a bureau drawer in the guest-chamber of 
the little cottage was a dress that Ann had 
been longing to put on for six months. It was 
of dainty white organdy, made to wear over a 
slip of the palest green silk, with ribbons to 
match. And carefully wrapped in a box, with 
many coverings of tissue paper, was a pair of 
beautiful pale green kid shoes. Ann had worn 
them only once, and that was in the early spring, 
when she had gone to a cousin’s wedding in the 
city. Many a Sunday morning since, she had 
wept bitter tears into that drawer, at not being 
allowed to wear the costume to church. 

‘‘Just see how beautiful they are, mother,” 
she would say tearfully, touching the beribboned 
dress with admiring fingers and caressing the 
shoes. “ By the time I have another chance to 
wear them in the city they will be too small for 
me, and I shall have to give them to Betty. I 
don’t see why I can’t wear them out here.” 

“Because they are not suitable, Ann,” her 
mother would answer. “You would look ridic¬ 
ulous going through the fields and along the 
dusty roads in such finery, and among all these 


ANN S OWN WAY 


61 


plainly attired country people you would appear 
overdressed. I hope that my little daughter is 
too much of a lady in her tastes to ever want 
to call attention to herself in that way, espe¬ 
cially at church.*’ 

“ But, mother,” the little girl would sob pro- 
testingly, and then Mrs. Fowler’s decided voice 
would silence her. 

“ Hush, Ann ! Close the drawer at once. 
You cannot wear them.” That would settle the 
matter for awhile, but the scene had been re¬ 
peated several times during the summer. Now 
it was next to the last day of October, and no 
suitable occasion had arrived for Ann to wear 
them. 

As she stood scattering the corn to the 
chickens, a daring plan began to form itself 
in her busy brain. The trees suggested it; 
the trees of the surrounding woodland, decked 
out in their royal autumn colouring of red and 
yellow, that the sunset was just now turning 
into a golden glory. 

“ Even the trees get to wear their best clothes 
sometimes,” she said to herself. “They look 
like a lot of princesses ready for a ball. Oh, 
that’s what they are,” she exclaimed aloud. 


62 


Ann’s own way 


“They are all Cinderellas. October is their 
fairy godmother who has changed their old 
every-day dresses into beautiful ball-gowns, for 
them to wear on Hallowe’en. I don’t see why 
I couldn’t wear my best clothes too, to-morrow.” 
Then she went on, as if she were talking to the 
old white rooster: “ I’d rather be dressed up 
and look nice than to play, and I needn’t romp 
at all. If we were to begin trying charms after 
supper, Mrs. Grayson would be almost sure to 
let us stay until after Jennie’s party begins, and 
then all the big boys and girls would see my 
lovely clothes. Nobody out here knows I’ve 
got ’em. And then if I should go down cellar 
with a looking-glass and candle and somebody 
should look over my shoulder, I’d be so glad 
that the first time he ever saw me I was all 
in green and white like the Princess Emeralda, 
with my beautiful pale green party shoes on. ” 
Alas ! Aunt Sally was right. The flotsam 
and jetsam of too many sentimental stories and 
fairytales were afloat in the child’s active mind. 
A few minutes later she had gathered the eggs 
and put them away in the pantry. Then she 
stepped into the sitting-room, awed by the 
solemn stillness that enveloped the usually 



“IT WAS THE BOX THAT HELD THE GREEN KID 

jj 


SHOES 




















































Ann’s own way 


65 


cheerful room. How strange and dark it 
seemed with all the blinds closed ! She groped 
her way across the floor, and tiptoed through 
the hall as if she were afraid that the great 
eight-day clock in the corner might hear her 
and call her back. Its loud tick-tock was the 
only sound in the house, except her own rapid 
breathing. 

Throwing open a western window, she pushed 
back the shutters until the guest-chamber was 
ail alight with the glow of the sunset. Then 
she clutched the handles of the bureau drawer 
with fingers that twitched guiltily, and gave a 
jerk. It was locked. For a moment her dis¬ 
appointment was so great that she was ready 
to cry, but her face soon cleared and she began 
a search for the keys. Under the rug, in the 
vases on the mantel, behind photograph frames, 
into every crack where a key could be hidden, 
she peered with eager brown eyes. It was not 
to be found. Finally she climbed on a chair to 
the highest closet shelf, where she came across 
something that made her give a cry of delight. 
It was the box that held the green kid shoes. 

“ I’ll wear this much of my party clothes, 
anyhow,” she declared, scrambling down with 


66 


ann’s own way 


the box in her arms. Then followed a fruitless 
search for the silk stockings that matched them. 
They were not in the box with the shoes, where 
they had always been kept, and a rummage 
through the drawers showed nothing suitable. 

She heard her Aunt Sally’s cook blowing the 
horn for supper before she gave up the search. 
That night after she and Lottie had gone up to 
bed, she took her cousin into her confidence. 

“ Mother hasn’t left a thing unlocked but my 
school clothes,” she said. “ I can’t find a 
stocking except my red ones and my striped 
ones and some horrid old brown things. She 
hasn’t left out a single white pair for Sundays; 
I don’t see what she could have been thinking 
of.” Nowadays little girls might not think that 
such a distressing matter, but twenty-five years 
ago no stockings but white ones were consid¬ 
ered proper for full-dress occasions. 

"I’ll lend you some,” said Lottie obligingly. 
“ I have a pair of fine white lamb’s wool that 
will fit you. They are a little small for me, 
and ma put them away to keep because grand¬ 
ma knit them herself after she was eighty years 
old. But I know she would not care if you 
wore them just once.” 


Ann’s own way 


67 


“Then let’s get them to-night and not say 
anything about it until after to-morrow,” said 
Ann. “ She might say I ought not to wear the 
shoes, and I’m just bound to have my own way 
for once in my life.” 

When Ann’s dark eyes flashed as wickedly 
as they did then, Lottie always submitted with¬ 
out a word. Opening a big chest in one corner 
of the room, she began fumbling among the pile 
of neatly wrapped winter flannels it contained, 
while Ann held the candle. 

“ I saw ma put them in this corner,” said 
Lottie. “ I am sure. Oh! here they are,” 
she exclaimed, and as she unfolded them she 
sneezed so suddenly that it nearly put out the 
candle. “ It’s the red pepper,” she explained. 
“They’re full of it, to keep out the moths. 
Hold them up and shake them hard.” 

Several shrivelled red pods fell out as Ann 
obeyed, and so much loose pepper that they 
both began sneezing violently. Lottie’s mother 
presently called up the stairs for them to hurry 
to bed, for they surely must be taking cold. 

The next afternoon when Mrs. Grayson’s 
carryall drove down the lane Ann was waiting 
in front of the cottage, and climbed in before 


68 


Ann’s own way 


her Aunt Sally came out to the gate to see 
them off. 

“Tuck the lap-robe around you well,” she 
called. “ If I had known it was so cold, I’d 
have gotten out your hoods instead of those 
sunbonnets. It really begins to feel as if win¬ 
ter is on the way.” 

It was a dull gray day with a hint of snow 
in the air. Several flakes fell before they 
reached the Grayson farm, and Ann pulled 
aside the lap-robe more than once to peep 
at the light green shoes with secret misgivings 
as to their appropriateness. The wool stock¬ 
ings made them such a tight fit that they 
pinched considerably, but the pinching was 
more than compensated for by the shapely 
appearance of her trim little feet. Besides 
there was a vast amount of satisfaction to the 
wilful child in the mere knowledge that she was 
having her ,own way. 

Under ordinary circumstances Ann would 
have looked back at that afternoon as one of 
the merriest of her life. She loved the woods 
like an Indian, and usually was the leading 
spirit in such exploits as they ventured on that 
day. They were off to the woods with baskets 


























Ann’s own way 71 

and pails as soon as they had all assembled. 
But for once the late wild grapes hung their 
tempting bunches overhead in vain. The per¬ 
simmons, frost-sweetened and brown, lay under 
the trees unsought by Ann’s nimble fingers, 
and the nuts pattered down on the dead leaves 
unheeded. While the other children raced 
down the hills and whooped through the frosty 
hollows, Ann followed gingerly in their wake, 
picking her way as best she could through the 
rustling leaves and across the slippery logs that 
bridged the little brooks. It was too cold to 
sit down. She was obliged to keep stirring; 
so all that miserable afternoon she tagged after 
the others, painfully conscious of her fine shoes, 
and a slave to the task of keeping them 
clean. 

“Hi! Ann, what’s the matter?” called one 
of the boys as he noticed her mincing along 
at the tail-end of the procession instead of 
gallantly leading the charge as usual. Then 
his glance wandered down past the checked 
sunbonnet and the long-sleeved gingham apron 
to the cause of her leisurely gait. 

“ My eyes ! ” he exclaimed with more vigour 
than politeness. “What made you pull your 


72 


Ann’s own way 


shoes so soon for, Ann ? They ain't ripe. 
They’re green as gourds.” 

“ Mind your own business, Bud Bailey,” was 
the only answer he received, but from then on 
what had been her greatest pride became her 
deepest mortification. For some unaccountable 
reason, after awhile her feet burned as if they 
were on fire, and before the afternoon was over 
the pain was annost unbearable. Lottie found 
her sitting on a log behind a big tree, with her 
arms clasped around her knees, rocking back 
and forth, her eyes tightly closed and her teeth 
clenched. 

“ It must be the red pepper in those stock¬ 
ings that burns you so,” she said sympatheti¬ 
cally. “ Come on up to the house and take 
them off. Lucy will lend you another pair.” 

But Ann sprang up, fiercely forbidding her 
to mention it to any one, and dashed into the 
games with a Spartan disregard of her pain. It 
was the only way to keep from crying, and she 
played recklessly on at “prisoner’s base,” not 
stopping even when a pointed stick snagged 
one shoe and a sharp rock cut the other. 

It was nearly dark when they went up to the 
house. Bud Bailey swung his baskets over the 


Ann’s own way 


73 


fence and turned to help the girls, but after 
his unfortunate speech to Ann, she scorned his 
gallantries. Scrambling to the top rail by her¬ 
self at a little distance from his proffered hand, 
she poised an instant, and then sprang lightly 
down. Unfortunately, she had not looked 
before she leaped. Bud’s basket was in the 
way, and both feet sank into a great pulpy mass 
of wild grapes, that instantly squirted their 
streams of purple juice all over her light shoes. 
They were splotched and dyed so deeply that 
no amount of rubbing could ever wipe away the 
ugly stains. They were hopelessly ruined. 

Alas for the Princess Emeralda, who that 
night might have learned her fate in the charm 
mirror! It was a Hallowe’en she could never 
forget, since its unhappiness was both burned 
and dyed into her memory. She sat through 
the tea, her feet like hot coals, too miserable 
to enjoy anything. Afterwards, when Jennie’s 
guests began to arrive, she shrank into a corner, 
with her dress pulled down far as possible. 

It seemed weeks before the carryall was 
driven up to the door, but at last she was 
jolting along the frozen road beside Lottie on 
the way home. Out in the starlight, within 


7 4 


ann’s own way 


the protecting privacy of her sunbonnet, she 
could let fall some of the tears she had been 
fighting back so long. Neither of the children 
spoke until the carryall turned into the home 
lane. Then Lottie cried out: “ Oh, Ann! 

There’s a light in your house. Your mother 
must have come back sooner than she expected. 
Yes, I can see Betty at the window watching 
for you.” 

At the gate Ann climbed over the wheel and 
then turned to exclaim savagely, “ I know what 
you’re thinking, Lottie Fowler, even if you don’t 
dare say it. You’re thinking you’re glad that 
you are not in my shoes ! But I’ve had my own 
way, anyhow ! ” Then with her head high she 
marched up the path to the house. 

But in spite of her brave speech, when she 
reached the door-step, she stopped to wipe her 
eyes again on her apron. The carryall drove 
away, and still she stood there saying to herself 
with a little sob, “ Oh, I wonder if the Prodigal 
Son was half as much ashamed to go home as I 
am!” 


THE END. 


COSY CORNER SERIES 

It is the intention of the publishers that this series shall 
contain only the very highest and purest literature, — 
stories that shall not only appeal to the children them¬ 
selves, but be appreciated by all those who feel with 
them in their joys and sorrows. 

The numerous illustrations in each book are by well- 
known artists, and each volume has a separate attrac¬ 
tive cover design. 

Each i vol., i6mo, cloth o $0.50 

By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON 

The Little Colonel. (Trade Mark.) 

The scene of this story is laid in Kentucky. Its hero¬ 
ine is a small girl, who is known as the Little Colonel, 
on account of her fancied resemblance to an old-school 
Southern gentleman, whose fine estate and old family 
are famous in the region. 

The Giant Scissors. 

This is the story of Joyce and of her adventures 
in France. Joyce is a great friend of the Little Colonel, 
and in later volumes shares with her the delightful ex¬ 
periences of the “ House Party ” and the “ Holidays.” 

Two Little Knights of Kentucky. 

Who Were the Little Colonel’s Neighbors. 

In this volume the Little Colonel returns to us like an 
old friend, but with added grace and charm. She is 
not, however, the central figure of the story, that place 
being taken by the “ two little knights.” 

Mildred’s Inheritance. 

A delightful little story of a lonely English girl who 
comes to America and is befriended by a sympathetic 
American family who are attracted by her beautiful 
speaking voice. By means of this one gift she is en¬ 
abled to help a school-girl who has temporarily lost the 
use of her eyes, and thus finally her life becomes a busy, 
happy one. 

13-1 


L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY'S 


By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON ( Continued ) 

Cicely and Other Stories for Girls. 

The readers of Mrs. Johnston’s charming juveniles 
will be glad to learn of the issue of this volume for 
young people. 

Aunt ’Liza’s Hero and Other Stories. 

A collection of six bright little stories, which will 
appeal to all boys and most girls. 

Big Brother. 

A story of two boys. The devotion and care of 
Steven, himself a small boy, for his baby brother, is the 
theme of the simple tale. 

Ole Mammy’s Torment. 

“Ole Mammy’s Torment” has been fitly called “a 
classic of Southern life.” It relates the haps and mis¬ 
haps of a small negro lad, and tells how he was led by 
love and kindness to a knowledge of the right. 

The Story of Dago. 

In this story Mrs. Johnston relates the story of Dago, 
a pet monkey, owned jointly by two brothers. Dago 
tells his own story, and the account of his haps and mis¬ 
haps is both interesting and amusing. 

The Quilt That Jack Built. 

A pleasant little story of a boy’s labor of love, and 
how it changed the course of his life many years after 
it was accomplished. 

Flip’s Islands of Providence. 

A story of a boy’s life battle, his early defeat, and his 
final triumph, well worth the reading. 

B —3 



COSY CORNER SERIES 


By EDITH ROBINSON 

A Little Puritan’s First Christmas. 

A story of Colonial times in Boston, telling how 
Christmas was invented by Betty Sewall, a typical child 
of the Puritans, aided by her brother Sam, 

A Little Daughter of Liberty. 

The author’s motive for this story is well indicated by 
a quotation from her introduction, as follows: 

“ One ride is memorable in the early history of the 
American Revolution, the well-known ride of Paul 
Revere. Equally deserving of commendation is another 
ride, — the ride of Anthony Severn, — which was no less 
historic in its action or memorable in its consequences.” 

A Loyal Littiw Maid. 

A delightful and interesting story of Revolutionary 
days, in which the child heroine, Betsey Schuyler, 
renders important services to George Washington. 

A Little Puritan Rebel. 

This is an historical tale of a real girl, during the 
time when the gallant Sir Harry Vane was governor of 
Massachusetts. 

A Little Puritan Pioneer. 

The scene of this story is laid in the Puritan settlement 
at Charlestown. The little girl heroine adds another to 
the list of favorites so well known to the young people. 

A Little Puritan Bound Qirl. 

A story of Boston in Puritan days, which is of great 
interest to youthful readers. 

A Little Puritan Cavalier. 

The story of a “ Little Puritan Cavalier” who tried 
with all his boyish enthusiasm to emulate the spirit and 
ideals of the dead Crusaders. 

B—3 



Z. C. PAGE AND COMPANY'S 


By OUIDA (Louise de la Ramee) 

A Dog of Flanders : A Christmas Story. 
Too well and favorably known to require description. 

The Nurnberg Stove. 

This beautiful story has never before been published 
at a popular price. 

By FRANCES MARGARET FOX 

The Little Giant’s Neighbours. 

A charming nature story of a “ little giant ” whose 
neighbours were the creatures of the field and garden. 

Farmer Brown and the Birds. 

A little story which teaches children that the birds 
are man’s best friends. 

Betty of Old Mackinaw. 

A charming story of child-life, appealing especially to 
the little readers who like stories of “real people.” 

Brother Billy. 

The story of Betty’s brother, and some further ad¬ 
ventures of Betty herself. 

Mother Nature’s Little Ones. 

Curious little sketches describing the early lifetime, 
or “ childhood,” of the little creatures out-of-doors. 

How Christmas Came to the Mul= 
vaneys. 

A bright, lifelike little story of a family of poor chil¬ 
dren, with an unlimited capacity for fun and mischief. 
The wonderful never-to-be forgotten Christmas that 
came to them is the climax of a series of exciting inci¬ 
dents. 

B-4 



COSY CORNER SERIES 


By MISS MU LOCK 

The Little Lame Prince. 

A delightful story of a little boy who has many ad¬ 
ventures by means of the magic gifts of his fairy god¬ 
mother. 

Adventures of a Brownie. 

The story of a household elf who torments the cook 
and gardener, but is a constant joy and delight to the 
children who love and trust him. 

His Little Mother. 

Miss Mulock’s short stories for children are a constant 
source of delight to them, and “ His Little Mother,” in 
this new and attractive dress, will be welcomed by hosts 
of youthful readers. 

Little Sunshine’s Holiday. 

An attractive story of a summer outing. “ Little Sun¬ 
shine ” is another of those beautiful child-characters for 
which Miss Mulock is so justly famous. 

By MARSHALL SAUNDERS 

For His Country. 

A sweet and graceful story of a little boy who loved 
his country; written with that charm which has endeared 
Miss Saunders to hosts of readers. 

Nita, the Story of an Irish Setter. 

In this touching little book, Miss Saunders shows how 
dear to her heart are all of God’s dumb creatures. 

Alpatok, the Story of an Eskimo 
Dog. 

Alpatok, an Eskimo dog from the far north, was stolen 
from his master and left to starve in a strange city, but 
was befriended and cared for, until he was able to re¬ 
turn to his owner. 


B —5 



Z, C. PAGE AND COMPANY'S 


By WILL ALLEN DROMGOOLE 

The Farrier’s Dog and His Fellow. 

This story, written by the gifted young Southern 
woman, will appeal to all that is best in the natures of 
the many admirers of her graceful and piquant style. 

The Fortunes of the Fellow. 

Those who read and enjoyed the pathos and charm 
of “ The Farrier’s Dog and His Fellow” will welcome 
the further account of the adventures of Baydaw and 
the Fellow at the home of the kindly smith. 

The Best of Friends. 

This continues the experiences of the Farrier’s dog and 
his Fellow, written in Miss Dromgoole’s well-known 
charming style. 

Down in Dixie. 

A fascinating story for boys and girls, of a family of 
Alabama children who move to Florida and grow up in 
the South. 


By MARIAN W. WILDMAN 

Loyalty Island. 

An account of the adventures of four children and 
their pet dog on an island, and how they cleared their 
brother from the suspicion of dishonesty. 

Theodore and Theodora. 

This is a story of the exploits and mishaps of two mis* 
chievous twins, and continues the adventures of the 
interesting group of children in “ Loyalty Island.” 

B —6 




COSY CORNER SERIES 


By CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS 

The Cruise of the Yacht Dido. 

The story of two boys who turned their yacht into a 
fishing boat to earn money to pay for a college course, 
and of their adventures while exploring in search of 
hidden treasure. 

The Lord of the Air 

The Story of the Eagle 

The King of the Mamozekel 

The Story of the Moose 

The Watchers of the Camp=fire 

THE STORY OF THE PANTHER 

The Haunter of the Pine Gloom 

THE STORY OF THE LYNX 

The Return to the Trails 

THE STORY OF THE BEAR 

The Little People of the Sycamore 

THE STORY OF THE RACCOON 

By OTHER AUTHORS 

The Great Scoop. 

By MOLLY ELLIOT SEA WELL 

A capital tale of newspaper life in a big city, and 
of a bright, enterprising, likable youngster employed 
thereon. 

John Whopper. 

The late Bishop Clark’s popular story of the boy who 
fell through the earth and came out in China, with a 
new introduction by Bishop Potter. 

B —7 



Z. C. PAGE AND COMPANY 


The Dole Twins. 

By KATE UPSON CLARK 

The adventures of two little people who tried to earn 
money to buy crutches for a lame aunt. An excellent 
description of child-life about 1812, which will greatly 
interest and amuse the children of to-day, whose life is 
widely different. 

Larry Hudson’s Ambition. 

By JAMES OTIS , author of “TobyTyler,” etc. 

Larry Hudson is a typical American boy, whose hard 
work and enterprise gain him his ambition, — an educa¬ 
tion and a start in the world. 

The Little Christmas Shoe. 

By JANE P. SCOTT WOODRUFF 
A touching story of Yule-tide. 

Wee Dorothy. 

By LAURA UPDEGRAFF 

A story of two orphan children, the tender devotion 
of the eldest, a boy, for his sister being its theme and 
setting. With a bit of sadness at the beginning, the 
story is otherwise bright and sunny, and altogether 
wholesome in every way. 

The King of the Golden River: a 

Legend of Stiria. By JOHN RUSK IN 
Written fifty years or more ago, and not originally 
intended for publication, this little fairy-tale soon be¬ 
came known and made a place for itself. 

A Child’s Garden of Verses. 

By L. R. STEVENSON 

Mr. Stevenson’s little volume is too well known to 
need description. 

B —8 



THE GOLDENROD LIBRARY 


The Goldenrod Library contains stories which appeal 
alike both to children and to their parents and guardians. 

Each volume is well illustrated from drawings by 
competent artists, which, together with their handsomely 
decorated uniform binding, showing the goldenrod, 
usually considered the emblem of America, is a feature 
of their manufacture. 

Each one volume, small i2mo, illustrated, $0.35 

LIST OF TITLES 

Aunt Nabby’s Children. By Frances Hodges White. 
Child’s Dream of a Star, The. By Charles Dickens. 
Flight of Rosy Dawn, The. By Pauline Bradford Mackie. 

Findelkind. By Ouida. 

Fairy of the Rhone, The. By A. Comyns Carr. 

Gatty and I. By Frances E. Crompton. 

Great Emergency, A. By Juliana Horatia Ewing. 
Helena’s Wonderworld. By Frances Hodges White. 
Jackanapes. By Juliana Horatia Ewing. 

Jerry’s Reward. By Evelyn Snead Barnett. 

La Belle Nivernaise. By Alphonse Daudet. 

Little King Davieo By Nellie Hellis. 

Little Peterkin Vandike. By Charles Stuart Pratt. 
Little Professor, The. By Ida Horton Cash. 

Peggy’s Trial. By Mary Knight Potter. 

Prince Yellowtop. By Kate Whiting Patch. 

Provence Rose, A. By Ouida. 

Rab and His Friends. By Dr. John Brown. 

Seventh Daughter, A. By Grace Wickham Curran. 
Sleeping Beauty, The. By Martha Baker Dunn. 

Small, Small Child, A. By E. Livingston Prescott. 
Story of a Short Life, The. By Juliana Horatia Ewing. 
Susanne. By Frances J. Delano. 

Water People, The. By Charles Lee Sleight. 

Young Archer, The. By Charles E. Brimblecom. 

B —9 



THE LITTLE COUSIN SERIES 

The most delightful and interesting accounts possible 
of child-life in other lands, filled with quaint sayings, 
doings, and adventures. 

Each i vol., i2mo, decorative cover, cloth, with six 
or more full-page illustrations in color. 

Price per volume . . . , . .$060 

By MARY HAZELTON WADE (unless otherwise 
indicated ) 


Our Little African Cousin 
Our Little Armenian Cousin 
Our Little Brown Cousin 

Our Little Canadian Cousin 

By Elizabeth R. Macdonald 

Our Little Chinese Cousin 

By Isaac Taylor Headland 

Our Little Cuban Cousin 

Our Little Dutch Cousin 

By Blanche McManus 

Our Little English Cousin 

By Blanche McManus 

Our Little Eskimo Cousin 

Our Little French Cousin 

By Blanche McManus 

Our Little German Cousin 

Our Little Hawaiian Cousin 

Our Little Indian Cousin 

Our Little Irish Cousin 

Our Little Italian Cousin 
B —IO 


Our Little Japanese Cousin 
Our Little Jewish Cousin 

Our Little Korean Cousin 

By H. Lee M. Pike 

Our Little Mexican Cousin 

By Edward C. Butler 

Our Little Norwegian Cousin 

Our Little Panama Cousin 

By H. Lee M. Pike 

Our Little Philippine Cousin 
Our Little Porto Rican Cousin 
Our Little Russian Cousin 

Our Little Scotch Cousin 

By Blanche McManus 

Our Little Siamese Cousin 

Our Little Spanish Cousin 

By Mary F. Nixon - Roulet 

Our Little Swedish Cousin 

By Claire M. Coburn 

Our Little Swiss Cousin 
Our Little Turkish Cousin 



























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